


Longing

by Vicky_Strife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feel-good, Fluff and Angst, Longing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean found an unexpected help during a particularly severe anxiety attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Longing

Dean was strong. Stronger than he would ever think, his self-loathing occulting the slightest of his qualities.

He was strong, at least in front of Sammy, his little brother, who always looked for approval in his eyes and comfort in his arms, despite the fact that he had been a head taller than him since he was twenty years old.

However, when Dean told him good night before he reluctantly disappeared in the dark corridor of the bunker, he was _weak_. He became the child frightened by the shadows he never got to be, and simultaneously, the old man exhausted by a long, grueling life.

He took off his plaid and lay down on his double bed, curled up a few inches from the right edge despite all the space he had available. As if he did not think he deserved it.

As if he were waiting for someone.

He closed his eyes hard and tried as best he could to push away the unpleasant memories that crowded under his eyelids like a swarm of ravenous crows. Sometimes, a muffled sob crossed the barrier of his pursed lips when particularly atrocious acts suffered in Hell were replayed in a loop in his mind.

Yet they were nothing compared to the memory of all the deaths he had caused. He could feel them staring at him, a circle whose accusation was louder because perfectly silent. It was usually at that point that he would break, crushed by guilt; he brought his knees against his aching chest and buried his face burning with tears in his hands.

He could still think how much John would have been ashamed of seeing his son like that. How much Sam would worry about him if he knew he endured the same torture every night.

Fortunately, his consciousness ended up giving in to exhaustion and he slept fitfully, generally until the first lights of dawn, not more.

But that night, he could not sleep. The anxiety attack was more virulent than usual ; he was about to knock on Sam’s door and scream until his voice would become hoarse. Perhaps he had finally reached his limits. Perhaps he had finally gone haywire.

Perhaps there was no hope left.

Suddenly, a deep sound pierced the fog of his chaotic thoughts. They stopped their hellish ride enough time for Dean to identify it.

\- Dean, are you alright ?

 _Cas_.

The hunter unfolded his legs at once then stilled, straightened on his elbows ; his body had moved on its own and if he had not stopped himself, he would have probably thrown himself at the angel’s feet. He bit his lip, ashamed. _Since when are you so miserable, Dean Winchester ...?_

\- Dean ? I heard you pray.

\- I didn’t pray, Cas, he croaked.

Dean could not see Castiel in the dark, but he was sure he had tilted his head on the side. He cursed his voice for betraying him.

He felt a weight sink in the mattress next to him and he froze.

\- « Pray » is a too restrictive word, Castiel explained, sighing over the insufficiency of human speech. Angels can pick up on longing. And I heard it from you, as loud as a siren…

His tone softened :

\- Not as loud as the first time, though.

Dean was speechless. The realization hit him hard.

\- I-Is it how you found me after getting out of Purgatory ?

\- I… I didn’t know…

\- It doesn’t need to be done consciously. Your soul did it and I’m grateful. Without you, I would still be wandering aimlessly on the roads of Montana.

Dean detected a smile and a hint of melancholy in his murmur; he seemed amused by his own words for a reason that only he knew. The hunter did not dare to ask for it.

A few minutes of silence passed.

Dean wanted to turn on his bedside lamp, however he was terrified at the idea that Castiel had never been there, that he had just dreamed him. Panic galloped back, and there he was, losing ground again and falling into a bottomless abyss, black, as black as his soul...

The bed creaked, startling him. The weight was approaching him, his hunter instinct screaming at him to turn around and fight it, because it was probably some evil creature’s trap, but fear nailed him on the bed.

\- It’s ok, Dean… I am here. It’s me, Castiel.

Dean swallowed loudly because of the lump in his throat ; was he able to read his toughts too ?

A warm body carefully took place against his back, then tender hands covered his, stopping their tremors. He released the breath he had not even been aware of holding back and abruptly relaxed, as if the threads that were keeping him in one piece had been ripped off. A wave of well-being washed over him, a feeling so unusual that he could not tell if other people actually happened to feel it too or if it was due to the angel’s supernatural powers.

The hunter was torn between coziness and awkwardness. He was dying to melt into Castiel’s embrace, to hug him with all his strength, _to become one with him_ and his heart raced as he realized what he had just thought. The heat he gave off was almost intolerable. His powerful arms closed around his waist gave a totally different priority to his mind.

If he could really feel his longing, he ought to be deaf at that time.

Just as he thought it could not get worse, Dean felt something hard pressing the small of his back.

\- Is that your angel blade or are you happy to see me ? he asked under his breath, less joking than he would have liked to sound.

\- My apologies…

Castiel’s voice was so _rasp_ that it sent an electric shiver down his spine ; he moved away from him, cold air already rushing into the void thus created and Dean could not bear it:

\- No !

He clung onto his forearm like a castaway on a lifeline. Castiel froze. Dean released him, afraid he had hurt him. But the angel lay back down without a word and snuggled up to him, his chin resting at the base of his neck, his lips brushing against his skin, so close yet so far, too much yet not enough.

Dean remained transfixed.

Castiel laughed softly, his breath tickling the hunter’s ear, and his communicative jolts propagated in the latter. Seconds later, they were both trying to stifle their laughter in each other, overcome with foolish cheerfulness, and if it were madness, Dean hoped he would never get cured of it.

Their laughter eventually died, but not their smiles. It had brought with it the last chains of their clumsiness.

Dean closed his eyes, suddenly heavy with fatigue. Lulled by the characteristic smell of Castiel – _earth and air purified after a storm_ \- he gradually drifted off to sleep.

\- I will never leave you again, Dean, the angel muttered as he squeezed him closer to his chest, backing up words with action.

The vibrations of the only promise Dean had ever needed to hear accompanied him in his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it ! Inspired by Castiel’s quote from 10x10 : « I can pick up on a longing. » and all the amazing meta about it on Tumblr of course ;)  
> If you found any mistake and/or bad phrasing, pretty please tell me so I can improve myself Q^Q (French’s my mother tongue and I translated this fic from it)


End file.
